A Consortium of Comments

Massage:

Have you seen the new massage outlet on Third Street in San Rafael offering 5 minutes free of massage? This begs (upon its knees, so to speak), some questions:

Is this some nefarious path around the city's massage ordinance? It would allow a practitioner to, ahem, get their hands around said ordinance.

Does this bargain presume that certain massages NEED only 5 minutes? And, may we customers request which component of our anatomy we would like massaged? 

And, of course, the most pertinent question: FIVE free minutes? ONLY five?

And a final, climactic, thought: what if 100 customers lined up outside that outlet and each person asked for five free minutes? That's 500 minutes, or 8 and a half hours.

 With all the images, ahem, sprouting up in the previous sentences, I say "Wow."

 Selling, Using the Term "Eco Green":

That's the kind of detailing a local outlet says it's offering to do on your car. Not just only green. Not just only eco. Eco green.

 At this past Fairfax Festival, there was an eco stage, an eco this, an eco that.

 Do I hear an echo here?

Carol Brandt Disclaimer:

But by no eco or green-means am I echoing Ms. Brandt's ditty in a recent Marin I-J, which effort most certainly was not eco as it was printed on dead trees, and the ONLY way it could have been green was if it was printed on the front page of the SF Chron sports section. So, just for sport, we note that said scrivener intoned annoyance with the "greening" of anything.

And then she apologized for saying such.

Just sayin'.

Rather, I take my hint and prod from Messrs. Jillette and Teller, whom I met some time ago. Along with a buncha other fans. Said Messrs recently collaborated upon a dispostulation (new word!) in their TV show "Bull[#$%&] that the use of the word "green" (and, presumably, "eco") are now only marketing tools.

Like five free minutes of a hand job.

Online Contact with Miners:

Congressman Anthony Weiner supposedly had online contact with a miner. I mean, a minor. I shall delve, so to speak, into that issue, by recounting for you the assessment a certain minor made of my attire the other night.

 This minor deemed that I looked like a minor. Or so I thought I heard her say.

 Here is the exchange: she gazed upon my attire. In her judgment my tan suspenders and burgundy shirt, made me look like a miner. I replied, "I do? I look like I'm younger than 18 years old?"  

I did not thank her for the assessment that I looked so young for my age, for she meant "miner."

That minor who dropped upon me the assessment? My step-daughter Daisy, is underage. 15 years of age, to put it mildly.

And I have online contact with her on a regular basis. Of course, I mine my interaction with said minor to bring about a mindful experience that you, dear dear reader, may mine for your minors.

 I won't even say it's mine.

My Previous Blog Post:

I hath heard from afar that there are some who found my last post, entitled Moochers, vexing. 

Too bad.

One human in particular, who hath cared naught for my political actions over the last four years, is a stalwart individual who shall go unnamed. She declared my work "satire." Or so I heard such, as in hearsay, from another individual.

 No, twas not satire, where ridicule exposes people's stupidity. Rather, twas "irony," which means "the expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite." 

To remind, I spoke of illiterate people who did not know the language, who did not work, and who arrived here by sinful means. Said human took offense at the proliferation of individuals under one year old.

 Like I said, there's easy ways to halt such a proliferation.

 But you could say I'm just mining an old joke.